When Unity Isn't Enough
by Kerink
Summary: The strength of the nation lies in unity" A not-so-brief Lithuanian history lesson from the eyes of young Lietuvos. It's gonna be dark, people. In later chapters: RussiaLithuania, one-sided PolandLithuania.
1. Chapter 1

**Keri:** o/o Hi guys, long time no write anything, hm? Well, here we go!

**Pairing:** Russia/Lithuania, one-sided Poland/Lithuania

**Warnings:** There will be lots of beatings, religious battles and bashings, war, etc. Pretty much all you'd expect from a historical-Hetalia story. It will be dark.

**Disclaimer:** Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya

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Exactly how many tears did it take to fill the Nemunas River? The winding, twisting bodies had to come from somewhere: something had to keep them fresh and alive as they cut through the landscape. The limestone and sand ground, the towering forests, the tall trembling grass, and the thousands of farms had their thirsts all quenched by these gurgling flows and tears were the easiest things to come by nowadays, it seemed.

Everyone knew the best way to drown out anything was by adding the sound of flowing water. The Nemunas fighting with his brother Neris at the crossroads, trying to go first upon the one-way road to the Baltic Sea. But upon the grass hidden by the oak trees that the rivers fed lay a boy who knew the brothers best of all. He cried with all his might for their fighting to cease so that someone may hear him. The child, whose will should have bent the Nemunas and the Neris, begging them to stay silent so he could be freed.

Yet the two listened not to their master's plight and the child was left to suffer in hidden agony. Jade eyes searched his attacker for any sort of decency, but were saddened to find that the man he knew too well would not spare him. This man whom the child had grown up with, this quiet man who generally liked to be alone in his thoughts and studies and activities, this man who was a magnificent fighter as well as a persuasive negotiator had suddenly turned on him, his violet eyes locked on the boy.

The child's small hands pulled at his long hair and matted beard, the dull brown starting to streak with gray. The child's small feet kicked uselessly at the armor that the knight wore across his chest and the leather straps did nothing to dull the pain that ran through his legs at each kick. The child's small voice sobbed and pleaded that he be spared, not to hurt him, that he would not tell, if he let him go.

"Novgorod please," he cried, trying to meet the hungry gaze again, "it is me, Lietuva, s-stop this…please." The child pulled his chocolate colored hair out of his eyes, less worried about keeping the locks out of his vision than keeping the man out of him. He screamed and punched again, small palms turning red as he struggled to keep from being invaded, but to no use.

The larger man flipped him over; pushing up the white frock all children of their kind wore, fingering the pantaloons underneath. The child sensed a moment of hesitation from the man before his bottom was exposed. He cried out again and tried to crawl away, a large hand pushing him into the grass. "Novgorod…" he whined, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

His heart was pounding in his throat and he closed his eyes, trying to wish for peace to befall Vilnius. He could feel the soldiers of Novgorod attacking the people of Lietuva. He could feel the buildings being raided and burnt to the ground, his live stock stolen or killed, his children kidnapped and his women raped. The child's stomach flopped as the actions of the man were made to metaphor the actions of his men: large, calloused hands pet at his sides before thick – too thick – fingers began to play at his entrance. The invasion was happening in real life...so why couldn't the man just get it over with?

The child waited, face pressed into the grass as he was stretched, a small grace in the entire thing. He sobbed and closed his eyes, trying to feel the warm sun on his back and the cool grass beneath his fingers. He tried to listen to the sound of the two rivers and the roaring of their argument. He tried to listen for footfalls against the dirt, trying to track the animals he knew hid amongst the trees.

A scream broke the calm morning air and he began again to struggle as he felt the man enter his form. He began to kick and claw at the grass, sobbing and begging him once more to stop. The child tried to focus back on the world around him – his world – but to no avail. Every thrust, every tear, ever grunt of pleasure the man made the child heard and felt and by the time it was over he was laying in a pool of his own tears and vomit.

His hips were released and shuffling was heard as the man stood, cleaning himself on a kerchief and adjusting his bottoms. He muttered a quiet apology, in a language the boy only half knew, before turning back towards Kaunas, shame and guilt filling him to his core. After all, his army would need his guidance and his leader would be pleased to know that the invasion had been a success.

The young boy lay in the grass, not daring to move in fear of irritating his wounds further. After what he was sure was only a short time, even though it felt like centuries, he heard the birds chirping above his head. He could not feel his legs, his entire form was quaking and if he opened his eyes he could see blood sliding down his thighs and pooling onto the grass beneath him.

-/-

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was late in the sky. It shone against the nearby water, the reflection forcing him to close his eyes again. He groaned quietly and moved his hands to cover his face, letting out a small sobbing sound at each and every motion. His legs had slipped from under him while he'd slept, and he was laying flat on the ground; although, now that he was waking, his nerves began to rouse and pain began to bolt through his veins.

The boy heard the branches snapping, bushes whispering around him and the rustling of the leaves. Fear mixed with the pain and he wanted nothing more than to run as fast as he could away. 'Oh why, oh why, why...' he thought miserably. Novgorod and his relations had never been the best, but it wasn't as though the two Nations were unfriendly. They fought, their kings met often, they even used the same trading routes. Lietuva felt ashamed and betrayed: The only other one like him he had known had back-stabbed him in the most brutal way.

"Leave me be," he whined, squeezing his eyes shut, as he heard the heavy foot steps nearing him. "D-don't you need to-to-" he hiccupped, "-c-collect your or-orders?" His heart clenched miserably. Here Novgorod was for a second attack and Lietuva wasn't sure that his small body and still childlike mind would survive anymore.

But instead of being heaved up or flipped over, instead of monstrous hands prying apart his rear, he felt one gently run through his hair. He heard a stranger speak in his native tongue, whispering something quietly to him. Lietuva turned his head, causing a sharp pain to run through his spine and up the back of his neck as he did so, his gaze meeting someone he knew as his own, but knew not.

But instead of being heaved up or flipped over, instead of monstrous hands prying apart his rear, he felt one gently run through his hair. He heard a stranger speak in his native tongue, whispering something quietly to him. Lietuva turned his head, causing a sharp pain to run through his spine and up the back of his neck as he did so, his gaze meeting someone he knew as his own, but knew not.

The man, an older man, who looked to be a farmer, smiled gently at him, sadly at him. He spoke again, muttering that it would be alright, that he would take him home. Lietuva blinked and sniffed, the boy had no home, everywhere was his home, and knew the man would be faced with a bit of trouble at finding his parents as their kind were born from the grass and the lakes and the wind. But Lietuva allowed the man to pry the pantaloons from where they were hooked around one ankle and he watched as he stuffed them in his pocket, and he allowed himself to be brought into the man's arm and carried from the wood.

He had stayed awake only long enough to know that the man carried him to a horse and held him as the rode away, drifting in and out of consciousness as they rode. When he woke again they were dismounting the horse and Lietuva saw a few dead animals hanging off the back of the horse; he supposed that was why the man had been so far out of the way.

Lietuva could tell without a sign or any sort of landmark that they were outside Kaunas; he had run away as far as he could when he had heard that the Novgorod soldiers were invading, but the man had caught up to him easily, even if he had managed to flee the attacked area. The two brother rivers were so far off now that Lietuva could no longer hear them. How long had he been asleep?

He man carried him into his house, it was a tiny cottage made of wood and straw and held together with a mud-based plaster. He pushed the creaking door open and muttered for his wife to fetch a bucket of water and a rag, that the boy was hurt. The farmer lay him down on one of the benches by his fireplace and removed his frock, quietly letting the child know that he would not be harmed.

Lietuva noted that the man was in deed Lithuanian and was rather old; he was balding and lines were forming on his face. His skin was tan from working in the sun and his palms were white and calloused. He wore a pair of brown pants and a dusty white shirt under a leather vest. Lietuva managed to quirk his head to get a look around, noticing five children - ranging from marriage age to two - watching him from around a corner. He closed his eyes, panting hard at the effort used just to hold his head up, and curled around himself again.

The farmer's wife returned, ushering her husband away so she could hp the child. She wet the rag in the bucket and began to wipe at his legs and buttocks, gently hushing his pitiful whimpers. When she was finally finished, she picked him up gently and wrapped him in a blanket that Lietuva did not see her bring in before laying him back down. Petting the knots out of his hair she asked: "What is your name child?"

And he quietly replied: "Lietuvos."


	2. Chapter 2

When Lietuva woke the next morning he had been dressed in a pair of shorts and a shirt that were no doubt a hand-me-down from one of the boys in the house. There had been three boys, the youngest child and two others that were only a few years older than the nation himself, as well as two girls, one around fourteen, the other maybe eight. This the child remembered just from glancing at them. It didn't take much for someone like him to know his people for each child born was another drop of his blood. He could sense them even if they couldn't sense him. Lietuva sat up, yelping and groaning at the pain that tore his spine and belly, the muscles in his back screaming in agony. He lay again, pulling the blanket around his shaking form. As he woke more he could smell bacon and eggs from the next room and the sound of eating and people talking in hushed voices. At the sound of his yelp, however, he heard chairs scraping along the wooden floor.

He saw the farmer and his wife enter the room, hesitating to make sure he was really awake. The man approached first, his dull brown eyes locking on the boy's jade. "Well good morning there, little one," he said quietly, kneeling down to pet Lietuva's hair. His voice was gruff and raspy, like he didn't speak as much as he should, but was soothing and gentle, giving Lietuva the feeling that when he did speak, it was enough.

The woman hovered over his shoulder, drying her hands on an apron. Her hair was gray and pulled into a messy bun, she was wrinkled as much as the man although each line was more pronounced due to the deep look of concern she held for the boy. She was a good mother, he could tell, a kind mother. She cooked good warm meals with whatever they had and made up nice comfy beds with soft sheets. Lietuva felt safe here, at home here, more so than he had in any castle he'd lived in. "Can you eat?" she asked, kneeling beside her husband. "I made you a plate."

She got a little nod in response, the boy's stomach churning from either want or sickness. Lietuva watched her leave, eyes staying on the door.

The farmer moved to sit on the bench next to him, eyes studying the child. "What happened to you, son?" he asked, arms leaning on his legs. His tongue moved to pick some gunk from breakfast out of his teeth. When Lietuva said nothing, he cleared his throat. "Well, um, the name's Mykolas Lorinaitis, that's my wife Audra." He paused, hoping to prompt the child. "Those are my children, got two others that have been married off and I got three grandbabies with one on the way."

Lietuva finally spoke, his voice raw and pained. "My name is Lietuvos."

Mykolas nodded, frowning at his wife as she entered the room. "Yeah, yeah, you said that yesterday." He caught Audra's eye as she helped the child sit, offering to feed him. "But you know, Lietuvos is the name of the country. I remember when it was formed, you know. We had been married a couple years already, had out first boy with our eldest girl a few months coming." He gave a dry sort of chuckle, clearing his throat after. "Where's your home at? I can take you back to your parents once you're feeling better."

Lietuva chewed what he had in his mouth, ringing the blanket between his shaking hands. His body hurt from the invasion, his emotions drained from the betrayal. "I live everywhere," he said, not able to look at the kind souls that had taken him in. "The castle isn't my home, I don't like it there. Mindaugas ignores me; he cares for the country but not for me. Novgorod-" his voice hitched and he covered his eyes. When he'd collected himself, his words came out as a choked sob, "No-Novgorod, I thought he cared about me, b-but he-he invaded me…his soldiers hur-hurt me everywhere. They burned things, they killed things, they-they hurt all my people…" Lietuva began to sob, the pain the only thing keeping him from curling in on himself.

The couple looked at each other, not sure what to make of the boy's words. Obviously there was doubt that the boy lived with the king up Kernavė and that he had traveled west some 18 kilometers to Kaunas just to get away. He certainly looked as though he could be royalty: he was healthy, his skin was pale and soft, his face was round and feminine, he had large eyes that held all the innocence of someone who had grown up sheltered and privileged. But then again, he was only around four or five years old.

"Sweetheart," the woman said, placing a gentle hand on his knee, "did someone touch you…down there?" Lietuva looked at the hand, it was bony and the skin was starting to shrink around it. "You had blood all over you; you can tell us."

Again the boy sobbed, moving closer to the woman. He held his arms out and was brought to her bosom, hugged and held tightly. "He did it!" he cried. "Novgorod! I trusted him! We were friends!"

Audra pet through the chocolate colored hair, hushing the boy. "You'll be safe here, it'll be okay. No one will hurt you anymore."

Lietuvos desperately wished to believe that, so he moved closer to her. She smelt like grease and lard soap and pine. It was comforting, it was welcoming, it was warm. He let himself forget his duties, his attack, and melt into her body, feeling the farmer's hand rubbing his back gently before he stood, his voice quietly ushering his children from the house.

"Please don't make me leave," he whimpered, looking up at her desperately. "I-I know he'll touch me again a-and Mindaugas won't stop him. Please let me stay, please let me stay, I want to be your baby too!"

"I need you to tell me your real name, dear; we have to find your parents." Audra pet his cheek with the back of her hand, drying his tears gently.

"My name is Lietuvos!" he insisted. "I don't have any parents!"

She looked at him, staring deeply in his searching eyes. Audra figured the boy did not recall who he was or where he had come from. Maybe he had been raised by this man who was called "Novgorod" and was given the name of where he was from to make him less real. Her heart ached for the child. "If I'm to look after you, I have to have a name for you. How does Toris sound?" she asked.

Lietuva nodded, it was a nice name. He'd never had a name before. His heart thumped happily, excitedly, in his chest. "Th-thank you," he whispered, fingers clinging to her dress. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of being embraced. Lietuva felt his small frame move up and down with her gentle breathing and listened to her heart beating behind her sagging breast. "Toris," he breathed quietly, "I-I can be Toris…Lorinaitis?"

Audra kept him close to her, eyes squeezed shut. She could not imagine how this poor child had suffered, what the boy had gone through to get to this point. "Yes, yes you can be. You'll be welcomed here, loved and taken care of. Don't worry anymore."

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**Historical Notes:**

• "Voruta may have been a capital of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania established in the time of king Mindaugas in the 13th century. The exact location of Voruta is unknown and there are many contradictiory theories about it...Present Lithuanian historian T. Baranauskas says that it is Šeimyniškėliai near Anykščiai. Others argue that Voruta is the current capital of Lithuania, Vilnius or the medieval capital at Kernavė. In total there about fifteen identified locations of Voruta. Birds eye view of KernavÄ— KernavÄ— is a tourist and archeological resort in southeast Lithuania, and was once the medieval capital of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania..." [www dot statemaster dot com front slash encyclopedia front slashVoruta]


	3. Chapter 3

It took two more days before Lietuva was able to stand without pain shooting in him. Even the emotional pain had dulled thanks to his joy at being someone's child instead of just a wandering soul. He was now Toris Lorinaitis, and he had discovered that his new family was actually very large. His new father and mother, Mykolas and Audra, together had seven children, three girls and four boys.

The eldest boy, Valdas, had married a girl named Daina and together they had a daughter named Pilvi and a child on the way; the eldest girl was Morta who had married a boy named Aras and they had two daughters named Gitte and Twila. Their eldest girl still in the home was Ugnė and the youngest was Milda, then there were the twins Petras and Liudvikas and the toddler Marijus.

Lietuva learned that the family had cattle, pigs, sheep, chickens, and horses. Valdas held all the male animals, as he was more young and much more fit and able to handle them, where Mykolas held the female. They herded them together to mate and split the meat between the households.

After a week Mykolas woke him and his brothers and piled them into the back of a cart, their legs dangled off the edge while their backs were pressed against itchy blocks of hay. Toris waved goodbye to his mother from her view from the kitchen window and his brothers, one on either side of him so they would be able to grab him should he fall, yawned and settled down for the ride. Toris looked around excitedly as they went, having never travel in such a way before. "Where are we going?" he asked, turning to Petras.

"To brother's house," he answered, catching Liudvikas' eye over the small nation's head. "We're going to do some work for him, since he doesn't have any kids to do it." He picked some hay from next to him, feeding it to one of the many sheep that were following the cart.

"What kid of work?" Lietuva mimed the other boy, patting the black, fuzzy head of the animal. It bleated at him and he smiled, leaning back against the yellowish wall.

"You know, cleaning the stables, organizing the barn, bundling the rye. Tėtis may even have us unload this stuff," Liudvikas patted the hay. "I hope you're nice and strong." He flexed his muscles and his brother scoffed.

Lietuva looked down at his own thin arms, hidden beneath the baggy off-white shirt he had received as a hand-me-down from his brothers. He was a new nation, compared to Novgorod at least, and he wasn't that strong. He knew he was going to have to toughen up if he was going to ward-off bordering nations. Lietuva's lips puckered and his eyebrows furrowed at the thought: the last thing he wanted was to return to nationhood, it was awful and backstaby and it hurt his chest.

At feeling his brother's eyes watching him curiously, the little boy coughed and picked once more at the hay. "How come the sheep are coming with us?" Toris asked, starting to wind the hallow tube around his finger, watching it splinter and bend.

"So we can get a head count," Liudvikas began.

"It's almost winter," Petras finished, causing Toris to whip his head around in such a way that hurt his neck, "and Mama needs to know how much food to make."

"What's winter have to do with it?" Lietuva rubbed his sore muscle, feeling a tingle in his belly as though he knew what the boys were talking about, or else had at one point, yet he couldn't quite recall.

"Because it's nearly the end of the year and the animals are going to have to eat too." Petras started this time, switching off to Liudvikas, Toris being much more careful to turn slowly this time.

"The Kucios feast is really fun: Mama makes up a fire and we do a prayer for Gabija and then we all share some bread and do a prayer for Zemepatis and Zemynele too and then the girls play games to make them dream about their husbands and we all have a big dinner that we even share with the animals and we forgive all our enemies!"

"And then the next day," Petras picked up again, "we have Kaledos and we go around the town and wish everyone well!"

"See, it's really important to do the prayers because if not then Zemepatis and Zemyenele will make it so the earth is dead and the crops don't grow-"

"-and Gabija will get up from her hearth and walk around the house and everything will burn up!"

A small smile crept across the child's face and Lietuva felt warmth spread through him at the explanation. He felt, all of the sudden, loved and cared for like he had never before. Despite the doom of not respecting them, he could feel his gods watching him, a warm glow washing over the dark that had once been his life. Lietuva felt like a piece that had been taken from him had been returned although he had never felt the misplacement before. "Wow," he breathed. "That sounds like a lot of fun."

"It is," the twins agreed.

The three children jerked as the cart came to a stop. Toris followed his brothers as they jumped onto the ground, dirt puffing in small clouds beneath their feet. Mykolas came from around the cart and called for the boys to gather the sheep before he disappeared into the house.

"I bet I can catch more than you," Petras taunted, nudging Liudvikas in the ribs before dashing off to corral the sheep. The twins laughed and ran around the place, scaring some of the sheep to run a few feet off before they slowly trotted back over to the cart.

Toris stood, slightly nervous of following his brothers' lead and risking his father's anger that they had got his sheep into a fright, so he stood, twisting his hands. He watched Petras and Liudvikas running around, doing more to scatter the flock than to bring them in, but he noticed that instead, the stragglers congregated around him, standing calmly at his side.

He smiled down at one of them, staring deep into those glossy black orbs. He was Lietuva, after all, and just as he knew he would come to worship and respect his new gods he knew the sheep did so for him. Petras and Liudvikas soon ran up to him, panting and resting against their knees.

"The sheep really like you," Petras stated, motioning weakly to the group, "you must have hay on your back." He stood, fingering the curly, off-white wool of the animal closest to him. "We should probably get them inside the gate."

"Here, Toris, since they like you so much," Liudvikas wandered to the side of the house, "lead them in this way, I'll hold it open."

Doing as he was told, Lietuva began walking towards where his brother's voice came from, going inside the pen. He could hear Petras trying to urge the sheep to move even though Toris could see they were following at their own leisurely pace. "Are they all in?" he asked once he had come to the other side; he could see the males through the holes in the wood, hear them stamping and bleating at the smell of females.

"Yeah!" one of the twins called. "Come back through fast so we can let you out!"

Toris turned to face the flock, who had now forgotten his presence in exchange for their mates, pressing closer and closer to him to get through. He shoved at them, whining for them to move so he could get back out. Toris pushed against the fluffy masses, feeling the pace of his heart quicken. "I-I can't!" he called. "I'm stuck!"

Nothing, his calls were met with silence and fear shot through him. "Petras?" he called, trying louder, "Liudvikas?" He felt his breath hitch in his throat and come out as a choked sob. Toris tried once more to get through; he couldn't even see the other side of the pen. He knew he couldn't die, but still he felt the fear of looming doom.

What if Tėtis forgot him out here? What if they got so caught up in their work everyone forgot him and by the time they came to get the sheep to go home he was smooshed to death? Tears sprung to his eyes at the thought of himself trampled into the dirt, his shirt torn open and his back covered in splinters, rings dug into his flesh from the knot holes. "Petras! Liudvikas!" he called out again, desperation in his voice. "Tėtis!" he tried to scream.

Lietuva could barely hear his voice over the needy sounds of the sheep, their calling and trampling, the males urging even louder. He could hear the wind as through it were right in his ears, pounding against his ear drum from one side while his heart pounded from the other. Toris began to yell, pushing more harshly than he thought possible against the bodies of the animals, the sounds growing impossibly louder around him. He could feel tears flowing down his cheeks as he drowned in the sea of wool and noise.

He was breathing hard; he was so very young and so very weak, his fit having taken most of the energy right out of him when suddenly it all halted. He opened his eyes and saw his father lifting him up from the ground. He couldn't tell if he were angry. The wind returned to a gentle breeze and the sheep became no more than a slight annoyance. Toris sniffed wetly.

Mykolas carried him from the pen, setting him down on the ground. Petras and Liudvikas stood nearby, looking utterly guilty, and Valdas looked on, leaning against the house. Toris sniffed again and wiped at his eyes, trying not to make any sounds of crying as Mykolas closed and locked the gate.

"Toris, I think you might be too young," his father said gently. "You should go wait in the house." And with that, his family turned back to the cart to start unloading.

Toris felt his heart rip at the words and fresh tears sprung to his eyes. He had wanted so dearly to help, to show his brothers he could work and be a family member. A choked sob escaped from his throat and the image of Novgorod's attack crossed his mind again. Lietuva half wished the man had killed him. The boy ran into his eldest brother's house, the wooden floors creaking in protest. Toris sat on one of the benches by the fireplace and he cried into his hands, drowning in a sea of morbid thoughts and painful humiliation.

He heard the floor shift again and soon a thin hand was placed on his back. "Labas, little one." Toris looked up at who he could only assume was Valdas' wife; she was quiet pregnant after all. "Why do you weep? What is troubling you?" She sat next to him, holding her swollen stomach as she did.

Toris dried his eyes and rubbed at his dripping nose. "I'm not good enough," he stated, feeling his heart leap and tear again. "I'm a stupid useless. I'm not a good Lietuva and I'm not a good Toris so I should just stop. I couldn't even put the sheep away! I should just go back to the castle and see if I can get Mindaugas to s-sign the country over so then I don't have to do stuff anymore." Lietuva felt another bought of sobbing come over him and he pressed his palms against his eyeballs.

Adrenaline pounded through his veins which did nothing to make him feel better. Lietuva felt anxious, restless, like he needed to run and run and run just as far as he could and, when he could go no further, fall to the ground and die. Every other second was filled with thoughts of Novgorod and ghost pain ripped through his body while emotional pain flooded his eyes and every other-other second was filled with the embarrassment of how he had just conducted himself.

He had come to this home to prove to his father he could be a good son, he was worthy of being a son, to prove to the man caring for him was the best plan of action and to not throw him away. But he had failed and now Toris just wanted to run; these were humans, they would not follow, they had no obligation to try and track him down and drag him back and Lietuva knew it was only a matter of time before Novgorod found him and brought him back to the castle.

Staying or going, both options caused fear to clench his stomach and his heart.

The woman did not leave, though, Daina's gentle hand caressed his back and she breathed quiet, soothing sounds in his ear. "Now, now, child," she said, not at all fazed by the boy's hysteric, rambling words, "you are just upset. I'm sure you are a good Lietuviškai, and I bet you are a fine Toris – Toris, is that your name? I know you are my husband's brother, yet I have not met you before. Where have you been these years?"

Toris looked up at her, she smiled in amusement at his messy face and handed him a kerchief. He dried himself and careful thought of his answer: his mother had not believed him, why should this woman? All that the humans saw was a freighted, confused, four year old boy, they did not see their newly formed country, they did not see the noble influence, they did not see rye in his hair and rue in his skin, they did not see forests in his eyes and rivers in his tears. "They found me," Toris answered simply.

"Mmm," Diana hummed contemplatively. She stood with a grunt and went to the fire, gently poking the ash back into place. "So you are a new child, a lost child? Where are your parents? I'm sure they miss you." A cup of murky water sat at the foot of the flames and she picked it up, returning the way she came. "Why did they lose you? Or did you leave?" She returned moments later with the cup clean and new water sloshing within it. Diana sat the cup back down and whispered into the crackle: "Bathe and rest, Fiery One."

Toris watched her motions with great interest and forgot he had been asked any questions until she returned to her seat and looked at him with a warm smile and quiet expectance.

"I never had another family," he said, looking at his feet then back up at the orange as it danced within the hearth. "I never lived any place, Tėtis found me in the forest." It wasn't a total lie as Lietuva truly had never called the palace his home and had never felt the sort of acceptance he did now. Mindaugas was the ruler, the uniter of Lietuva. If Toris wanted to think that way, he could certainly say the man was his father, but the mere idea filled him with disgust. Mindaugas treated the boy as a servant in the home, said he should be standing by to be ready to jump up and fetch this or do that or agree whole-heartedly with everything his ruler said.

Diana pet through his hair, turning his head so that they could look eye to eye. "Well you are home now, little one." She smiled and kisses him on the forehead. "Would you like to help me in the kitchen? Tėtis and you boys will be gone by midday and even though my family is small, I still have to take time to make their meals." She stood and offered him a hand.

Toris took it readily, it was another chance to be helpful and he wasn't going to let it slip away. He followed and pulled a stool up to the table where Diana began setting out vegetables and dried meat. Toris looked over everything, noting how the plants felt in his hands, the weight, the texture. He felt from one end to the next and examined the grain of each before lining them up. He smiled down at the knives set before him looked over his shoulder at Diana as she brought embers from the other room into the kitchen's hearth.

Lietuva picked up each of the knives in turn and studied them much as he did the vegetables, finally picking one that felt good against his small, soft palm. When Diana brought over a bucket of water he helped her wash the knives and vegetables and helped her cut them into chunks for stew.

The sun was starting to sink and was nearly halfway to the horizon when Toris was sitting back between his dirty and tired brother in the now empty cart. The sheep bleated along, huffing and trying to nip the pieces of fallen hay from the trip to Valdas' home. Toris stared up at the bright blue sky, listening to the breeze, a wide smile plastered on his face. The words of praise at his skill with a knife were still ringing in his ears and for the first time in his short life, Lietuva felt proud of something he had done.

* * *

**Historical Notes:**

• "tėtis", Lithuanian for "papa"; "labas", Lithuanian for "hello"; "Lietuviškai", Lithuanian for "Lithuanian"  
• Kucios and Kaledos; pagan-Lithuanian Winter Solstice/New Years holidays [www dot infinityfoundation dot com front slash mandala front slash h_es front slash h_es_trink_i_fire_frameset dot htm]  
• Gabija, pagan-Lithuanian Goddess of fire; Zemepatis, God of the homestead and Zemyenele, Mother Earth Goddess, sister of Zemepatis [see above]


	4. Chapter 4

His father no longer trusted him to work the jobs designated to his gender, not believing him to be tough or strong enough to do even the slightest, simplest task. Although this hurt him, Toris was happy in the cool shade of the house, helping his mother with the cooking and cleaning: now that Toris had found his purpose he could not be stopped.

He scampered about after Ugnė and Milda, catching the clothes that fell from the loads in his sisters' arms. Toris learned how to scrub out the dirt in buckets of water pulled up from the ground, he learned to set and test the line and how to drape the clothes so they would flap in the wind and the water would evaporate into the sky to join the ever watchful clouds. He stood on a stool in the kitchen and peeled potatoes and carrots and onions, he and Milda de-boned chickens and cracked eggs into bowls.

Toris wasn't allowed to tend to the fire, or was even told how due to the fact he was boy. He learned that only woman were to build and care for Gabija; but he managed to learn what there was to be taught because he had only had to be scolded once that regardless of who was calling him or what he had to do, when the fire was lit all were to watch he had to do, when the fire was lit all were to watch with full intent,honoring the burning goddess. And as the family would stare, his mother would sing in the most wonderful voice:

"_The fire is burning, tuta, tuta..._

_Gabija is burning..._

_On the mound_

_ON the hill_-"

Toris, still so young and not used to the early hours his family kept,

"_Fire Gabija_

_Shine as lit_

_Smolder as covered_

_Zemynele, dear earth_

_We are your children_-"

would feel his eyelids grow heavy with sleep,

"_Saule – sun, dear mother_

_We are your daughters_

_Menuo – moon, dear father_

_We are your sons_

_Stars, dear sisters_

_We are your sisters-_"

and they would close, his small head drooping to rest against his chest, mouth slightly agape,

"_Fire, Gabija_

_Shine as lit_

_Smolder as covered_

_Give us strength_

_Unite us-_"

and Toris would sleep against the makeshift lullaby,

"_Zemynele, dear earth_

_Help us prosper_

_Laima, destiny-giver_

_Bless us..._"

Toris would be startled awake when a wooden spoon cracked down upon his head and he would be sent to sit in the corner to hold his bump and cry. Fortunately, Lietuva learned much faster than a boy normally did and this occurrence was rare.

-/-

The tall grass tickled against his pale peach skin as he ran up a small mound. Ugnė was walking a few feet behind, observing her younger siblings. Toris laughed as Milda set a crown of flowers atop his head.

"Now you're king of the faeries, Toris!" she giggled, curtsying to her brother.

Toris picked a flower of his own and set it behinds her ear. "I am! And you can be the queen!"

Ugnė scoffed and picked the little boy up, cradling him in her arms like a baby. "You can't be king and queen if you're brother and sister!" she playfully scolded the laughing children, spinning around. "You two are so silly." Ugnė set Toris back upon the mound and sat next to him, her long dress settling atop her legs so that only the tips of her leather slippers could be seen.

Toris huffed and fixed his crown. "As king of the faeries I can do what I want!" He took Milda's hand and mimed a curtsy to her. "Your majesty!"

"Your majesty!" she mimicked after joining him on his post. They sat only when Ugnė gave in and halfheartedly bowed to them.

The grass at this time of year was brown and limp, ready to be buried by the coming snow – which had already started to frost their land during the night. The wind was crisp and fast, but not as biting as it was during the season's peak. Most of the plants were shriveling or browning or drooping in preparation to hibernate. Toris could hear, off in the distance, his father's deep harvest song as Petras and Liudvikas sang along, but it wasn't long before his mother cut through his voice to call him and his sisters back to the house.

Ugnė was the first to stand, brushing dirt and clinging grass from her dress. She gave Milda a hard look as the younger began to complain and she too stood with a huffy pout. Lietuva smiled and took Ugnė's hand as the returned. They passed the cattle grazing freely and it brought him contentment. He had always enjoyed being amongst the cattle and flocks of the castle and his encounter back at Valdas' home had furthered his belief that animals should not be kept in pens. Lietuva removed his crown as they entered the house and left it on the ground by the door, hiding it between the step and a bush of rue. Ugnė and Milda were washing up in a bucket of water – warmed due to its proximity to the fire – while his mother was checking the doneness of several loaves of bread. Toris climbed upon his stool and sat with his legs on either side of him.

Lietuva giggled as Ugnė nearly hit her head on one of the lumps of dried meat that hung from the ceiling and his mother gave him a look of reprimand. "Is dinner almost ready?" he asked, a look of playful innocence on his young face.

Audra shook her head at the boy, smiling despite herself. "Just about, call your father please, Toris." She set the bread before him on the table and he breathed in deeply before jumping down.

Like a bird, Toris sped around the house with his arms out. He ran through the living room and felt Gabija's heat lick his legs and he let out a small sound before laughing again and he went through the door. "Tėtis!" he called as he went around the house, slowing as he rounded the corner. "Tėtis," he said again, looking around for his father and older brothers in the nearly empty field.

He heard a small whistle and he spun around seeing Petras peeking around the back of the barn. "Hey there little sparrow – where yuh been all day?" The older brunette leaned against the house, smiling at him.

"Hey!" Toris moved closer, leaning in slightly. "Where'd your tooth go?" Sure enough the harder Toris looked the wider Petras smirked showing the gap where his right front tooth was gone.

Suddenly, his older brother grabbed his arm, leaning in closer. "Like it? This is the third time I lost a tooth – Liudvikas has a tooth loose too!" Leaning down closer to Lietuva, Petras tilted his head to show off the swollen gum. "it means I'm closer to being a grown-up."

Toris' shoulders hunched as he retreated away from the closeness, but his head tilted opposite of Petras' and he looked at the gap with wide, curious eyes. "Did it hurt?"" he questioned quietly.

"A little," he answered, moving his head a bit more, "and it bled a whole bunch. Tėtis sent me out here to try and stop the bleeding but, ah, I didn't want to go back to work so I'm hiding." Petras paused, tightening his grip gently. "Hey Toris – we...we aren't _really_ brothers, right?"

Intrigued by the question, and slightly hurt by it too, Toris made a small sound. "I-I guess not...but I want to be – why?" Before getting an answer, Toris felt soft lips pressed against his own. His eyes widened and Lietuva turned his head away, struggling against the bigger boy. "L-let go!" His command was obeyed and Lietuva fell on his bottom in the dirt. "What are you doing?" Toris' voice cracked as he shuffled away, heart pounding wildly.

Petras' face turned to that of a look of fear, knowing that he had severely screwed up. "I-I just-! Please don't be scared, Toris," he said, waving his hands in a surrendering manner. "Tėtis told us what happened to you, about how that bad man...touched you in...you know, your pants. I don't want to do that to you, I just..." Petras rung his wrists, looking away. "I just feel like...I don't know, I feel like, really nice and safe around you."

Lietuva blinked sadly at his older brother, the child of his land; he wondered if Petras was really in love with him or whether or not he was feeling the paternal devotion the animals felt towards him. The instinctual sensing of their fatherland. "Does it kind'a feel," he paused, "like Mama-safe?"

It was now Petras' turn to pause. He slid down the wall of the barn, holding his legs to his chest. "I guess...sort of...maybe."

Nodding in understanding, Lietuva scooted across the dirt like a dog with worms, finally settling next to his brother. It was odd, he began to realize, to be in this situation. He wanted to be Toris, son of Mykolas, a farmer, a child, a human, but he wasn't, he couldn't. He had to be Lietuva, he had to be the fatherland. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, Toris wasn't ready for that. He didn't want to be that. "What do-" he cleared his throat, "what do boys, kids, do when they like each other like they want to kiss and stuff?"

Too clearing his throat, Petras shifted about. "Well, they kiss obviously a-and they could cuddle and hold each other." The older boy angled himself to be more facing Toris while still sitting next to him. "Milda sometimes plays house with a boy a few farms over."

Toris nodded again, he felt his chest constrict with nervous excitement, he felt his stomach flop and twist and churn, he felt sick and like he wanted to run, but not away, he felt like he had a ball of energy just sitting in his belly, waiting to make him scream and jump and move around or else he would surly vomit.

But he didn't. Instead he stood, a deep breath filling his lungs, and extended a hand to the older boy. "It's dinner time," he said, helping Petras stand. Together they walked into the barn and brought in their father and other brother.

* * *

**Keri:** I'm really sorry this chapter's so short and sucky. I wanted to put a lot into it, but it just wasn't happening so I figured I'd post what I have. We'll be getting to the real plot in the next chapter I really, really promise.

**Historical Notes:**

• Fire ritual song: [www dot infinityfoundation dot com forward slash mandala forward slash h_es forward slash h_es_trink_i_fire_frameset dot htm]


	5. Chapter 5

**Keri:** Fuck, I'm sorry this is took so long. I was going to break it up into two chapters but I told the RussLith club at LJ that this chapter would have Russia and I didn't want to be a liar, and it's my first year of college and OctoberNovelFest and now Nano-! Enjoy, god.

* * *

As the fall turned into winter, and the crops were harvested, bundled, and stored, as the days grew shorter, and the night colder, and as snow covered the land, Toris grew. It wasn't a slow process, like with humans where the change is gradual and unnoticeable until the child outgrew their clothes, but more of once a week his parents would see he had added an inch to his height and by the time the winter solstice had hit, Toris had become the middle child.

It unnerved the members of the Lorinaitis household, and in hushed voices while the children played, Mykolas and Audra mused if what the child had tried to explain to them had been true. For every time the mother would try to prompt the boy from his stories and tell her what horrors he had endured, it was the same insistent word of "Lietuva".

Toris felt embarrassed of himself once more for his siblings had at first been wary of him, the boys warming up to him much more quickly than the girls, thinking he had some secret for hurrying them into adulthood. But Ugnė held the same unease as her parents, while Milda shyly wondered if Toris was too old now to want to play dolls with her.

Still, Toris stuck fast to his usual routine of helping the women in the kitchen, despite his father's comments that next planting season he'd be strong enough to help.

When the holidays came, Toris was more than eager to learn, listing to the tales his father told with much more interest than his siblings who heard these things every year. He helped Audra cut a twig from the cherry tree in Valdas' yard, placing it in water, and checked every day the progress of the plant as the roots began to sprout. Not wanting to miss a thing, he even played games of farming with his brothers, and strew about hemp seeds with his sisters, even when the twins mocked him that such a thing was supposed to bring fortune to finding husbands. He sat at Mykolas' foot as the man taught him the songs for Kaleda, and was rewarded with pieces of sweet bread for being so clever.

The week before the actual holiday, Toris would sit on the floor of the living room, all his family gathered too – save Audra and Ugnė who were cooking away. Mykolas had explained that the house needed to be cleaned and decorated properly so as to perfectly symbolize the meaning behind the holiday. Toris worked with his ears open as the man guided his hand, and he realized that this was no time for idle merriment, but was a deep time for one to reflect about one's place in the world, in the circle of life, and to celebrate not only the life they still held, but all life in general and to not fear the death that would befall all at some point or another.

Toris would stand with Milda and watch their father hang these things which were made each year, and Toris felt a sense of pride that something he had made with his hands would not only be appreciated by the family, but played such an important part of the holiday. Rings of dried straw were hung about the house, each with little birds carved from wood placed within, a candle or two stuck inside. Toris was at first panicked when Mykolas lit them, fearing the house would catch fire, but was eased when he remembered that the family was good to Gabija, honored her daily, and so long as Toris had faith she would not harm them.

Under every grove was placed a wooden stool, atop was placed loaves of bread, bowls of salt, and bowls of kucia. This was left alone for the spirits of those long dead. Toris, Petras, and Liudvikas tossed handfuls of hay about the floor while Milda and Ugnė set the table: a layer of hay first, then a tablecloth, before decorating the center with a bundle of unthrashed rye.

On the day of Kucios, Toris sat in the yard with his siblings and watched the sun set and the sky darken. He bounced with excitement as the sky began to turn a dark blue as the orange ebbed away. "The first star, right?" he asked.

"The first star," Petras confirmed.

"Any star?"

"Any star, anywhere."

Toris paused. "What if it doesn't rise on this side of the house?"

The children considered this and Ugnė made small sound of amusement. "Too clever for his own good," she mused under her breath. "Come on Milda, let's go around to the other side to watch." The girls stood and moved away, leaving the boys to sit on their blanket in the snow.

Silence befell them and Toris moved over to where Milda had sat, allowing the twins to spread out more comfortably, though Petras still kept close, causing Toris to blush. The day the two had kissed had not been forgotten, and in fact had been explored in more depth. Petras had taken Toris up to the hay loft where they had lay together. True to his word, the older boy had not hurt Toris in anyway, and in fact had asked before even so much as holding his hand. Although it made Lietuva blush and fluster, he had accepted the advances and had taken to sneaking into Petras' bed at night after Liudvikas had fallen asleep.

The brunette wasn't sure what he wanted, still finding that every time their bodies brushed his heart rattled with the fear and shame that his rape had caused. Toris was certain he didn't love Petras, didn't want more than comfort and a few gentle kisses, and he had told his brother that. He didn't feel right trying to be a human, and every time Petras made an advance towards him, the thought flared up in his mind. He would not die, at least not until hundreds of years had passed, but Petras would be gone in the blink of an eye by his time. Toris had already been alive for nearly twenty-five years, even if he was stuck now in the body of a seven year old.

Marijus was asleep next to him and Toris absentmindedly fingered the toddler's hair, his emerald eyes searching for any slight twinkle of light. A smile pulled at his face, all thoughts banished, as he spotted one, hearing Milda yell that she had found it. The boys stood and Toris took Marijus into his arms, passing the bundle to Ugnė as she came back around. Liudvikas picked up the blanket as he and Milda ran into the house to tell their parents.

The family gathered at the front door and Audra handed out their scarves and coats, helping them dress and changing their house shoes for their boots. They piled in the cart, with the children in back and the adults and the napping Marijus up front. Toris moved close to Ugnė as she wrapped an arm around him to help keep him warm. They stopped at Valdas' house and their family joined in the back, the brother sitting between the twins and Diana cuddling close to him. Pilvi and Milda sat together, holding hands and giggling quietly to themselves.

"Is Morta's family coming?" Ugnė asked, looking across the cart at Valdas.

"No," he answered, ruffling Liudvikas' hair as the boys tried to pull him over. "Aras dragged her out to Vilnius, wanted to open up a shop out there. You know, be able to make more money."

Ugnė made a small sound of understanding, and fell silent again. Toris held her about the middle tightly, watching his brothers rough-house and hearing his sister and niece gossip amongst themselves.

Eventually the cart stopped at a small wooden house. Toris' brows knit together as they all piled out, Mykolas led him and his brothers to the left of the building while the girls went right. "Now Toris," he explained, "this is a sauna. It's part of the tradition and helps you to cleanse yourself. You get undressed and put your clothes here on this bench, then we'll go in and sit for awhile before we go home and eat."

Toris nodded and was thankful his blush couldn't be seen under the candle light. He still felt uncomfortable being even half dressed around anyone. But if this was meant to clean him, then he figured he would feel better afterward. He did as he was told and set his clothes aside, following close to his father as the entered a fogged up room, his brothers still trying to tackle Valdas to prove to him how strong they had become.

The entire building smelt of wet wood and a bit like rot, but it was warm and as Mykolas poured water over the hot coals set in the middle of the room, he felt himself relax. The family stayed for nearly an hour, Toris figured, and as he dressed and stepped back into the crisp night air, Toris did in deed feel like a new person. Like all the wrong and all the bad had been stitched into his old skin, and while dozing in the warm, thick clouds he had shed it and left it all behind him. No more was there pain in his heart and Toris' smile had never felt more real.

After bidding goodnight to Valdas and his family, the group circled the house three times, playing make believe as their father changed and entered the house under the name of Dievulis. They took their places at the table and Mykolas spoke words of wisdom and broke the first loaf of bread, passing it around for everyone to have some. They prayed to Zemynele, lifting their bread towards the heavens. Mykolas then passed around a goblet of beer and they each had a drink, spilling a few drops onto the floor for the dead.

Once that was completed, Mykolas sat at his seat and looked around the table. "Now then, who would you each like to forgive on this day so that in the coming year you may enter it as friends and begin anew?"

Ugnė cleared her throat first. "Tėtis, I wish to forgive the drunkard that killed my fiance. May the gods take pity upon him and bless his house." She bowed her head in a slow nod before looking back up again, her face strong and set, but her eyes glazed with unshed tears.

Mykolas squeezed her hand under the table and nodded his head. "Does anyone else have ill feelings of another they would like to forget?"

The others were quiet, the twins already selecting with their eyes the loaves of bread they would like and calculating how much of each food item they would be able to fit on their plate. Toris wondered if living within just the house made it so that the children had no bully they would like to forgive or any friend they had fought with they wished to make up with, but Toris found it odd they were all so quiet.

Toris took a deep breath, wanting to continue into the next year feeling as good as he had coming out of the sauna and he knew he couldn't do that with anything lift uncleansed. "I would like to forgive someone too, Tėtis," he said quietly, looking down at his lap. He felt a gentle hand on his head and looked up at his mother's soft smile, before taking a deep breath and locking eyes with his father. "I want to forgive Novgorod for hurting me. I know he only did it because he had to."

Getting a nod from the aging man, Toris felt a weight lifted. The food was passed around and a content silence washed over the room. Audra had set aside half the food for the animals, as the entire meal was vegetarian, and had set it out earlier that day and the family had strewn seeds about outside for the birds, for today was a day for animals to be given back to by man for their sacrifices throughout the year.

After everyone had eaten, they family each pulled a piece of hay from underneath the tablecloth and Mykolas used it to predict their fortunes. Ugnė's reading happiness with many children, Petras' with health, Milda's said wealth, Liudvikas' with power, Toris' startled Mykolas and made his brows furrow. He turned it over a few times to see if it could be read another way, but he cleared his throat and explained that it read a long life, but one that would be filled with trials and hardship.

Toris frowned deeply at the news and Audra cleared her throat. "It's just a silly game," she said, her husband's words having lowered a dark curtain upon the family's mood. She stood and ran a hand through Toris' hair, ushering them into the living room to burn their grains and birch twigs before bed.

-/-

The next morning the family once more piled into their cart, each bundled up tight against the biting winter air. Each of the children wore a necklace decorated with sun shaped beads and they carried suns made from woven hay. From over the side of the cart they waved to the other families, yelling good wishes and a happy Kaledos.

When they reached the nearest town, Mykolas tied up the horses and helped Audra down from her seat. Petras and Liudvikas stood and jumped onto the dirt, hurrying to say hello to the first people they saw, while Ugnė helped Toris and Milda get down in a much more dignified manner. "Now Toris," she said, taking his hand, "don't just rush around like those two, eager to finish this and get home, you have to mean every word you say, alright?"

Toris nodded, holding the toy close to his chest. He could feel the merriment in the air, everyone was gay and the decorations were hung from every window and every door frame. The keepers had all closed shop in favor of passing out free items, all with the same sun print theme. He saw his mother chatting with another woman who then presented her with a bowl while his father was shaking hands with each shop keeper and blessing their sales.

He smiled wide and allowed himself to be led along by his sisters, receiving free snacks of bread or crisps when they stopped to chat. Toris could feel the same feeling of new, of fresh, of clean amongst all these people, and everywhere he looked it seemed to radiate warmth and safety and happiness.

It was nearly noon when the family sat together on a set of benches in the road, Toris and his siblings held loaves of bread stuffed with stewed rye and beans while his parents shared a glass of ale. Ugnė was across the road talking with a group of girls about her age and Petras and Liudvikas were in a contest to see who could eat the most at once without choking.

Toris looked around at all the people who were congregating more to chat idly than they had earlier in the day. He raised his lunch to have another bite, but lowered it again as a vibrating wave washed over him. It was a low, buzzing hum in his ears and he felt goosebumps prickle on his skin. Suddenly, he felt very cold, and very fearful. Toris looked around, eyes scanning for the source of the shift, a change he knew his family couldn't feel.

He didn't have to look for long as the crowed turned and parted, whispering behind their hands as two men on horseback, followed by a procession of guards carrying weapons, flags, and packs off food, entered the square. Toris hopped to his feet, looking up at them. At the front was Novgorod, riding high and in full armor – shiny mental and tight leather covering every inch of his body, save his head for his helmet was underneath his arm. Riding next to him was a man Toris had never before seen. Even so, he could feel Nation on him.

The man had yellow skin with slanted eyes, his hair was black and matted underneath, brushed only at the top most layers. In the dip on his chin, where the teeth pushed out his lip, there was a thin, pointed beard with an accompanying mustache. He too wore armor, but instead of the single slab that Novgorod had, it consisted of several plates, layered over his torso. This man wore his helmet only because it did not cover his face like Novgorod's would; the top was decorated by two long, antenna-like feathers that fluttered behind him in the breeze.

Mykolas too stood as the men stopped before them, motioning for his wife and children to stay behind. "Labas," he said, bowing at the party for their importance was obvious even without him having to feel their Nationhood. "What may I do for you sirs?"

Novgorod kept Toris' gaze for a moment before looking at the man. His expression was flat, almost tired. "Da, we have been sent by Duke Mindaugas to collect this boy," he motioned to Toris. "He has been left to his own devices for long enough."

Mykolas shifted uncomfortably. Toris knew the man could not refuse a direct order from his leader, but hoped that he at least felt ache at having to let Toris go. He looked over at his father as he spoke again. "I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to do that."

Nodding at his response, Novgorod removed a scroll from where his belt held it against his waist. He handed it to Mykolas. "This is the order, read it for yourself. We will not leave this place without him – whether or not we have to use force shall be up to you." After a moment of watching Mykolas look over the papers, brows furrowed for he could not read, he continued. "My comrade here will teach this boy what he needs to know to survive. He can teach him what you haven't the knowledge, the money, or the time to teach him."

Mykolas sighed to himself, eyes fixed on the seal at the bottom of the page – his only clue to it's authenticity. "Toris..." he said quietly, looking at the boy. He got on his knee, looking the child in the eye. "Toris do you want to go with them? I'll do what you want and if you want to stay, I'll do everything I can to keep you."

Toris' eyelids fell half way and looked at his hand, the hand that still held his lunch. He wasn't a peasant, he wasn't a human, how long could he honestly continue on with this charade? "Lietuva," he quietly corrected. "Tėtis," Toris looked back up at Mykolas, eyes glazed over with tears, "I don't want to go. I want to stay here, I want to be your son. I love you and Mama and all my brothers and sisters." He sniffed wetly. "But I'll go with them – I have to."

"Good then that is that," Novgorod said before Mykolas had a chance to respond to his son. The horse he rode snorted and kicked at the dirt, though the empire held it in place. "Say your goodbyes."

Toris looked over at his family, there was a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. His hand lowered and he didn't care as the insides fell onto the ground. Audra was looking at him with the same pain as if it were her own child being ripped from her arms, Milda and Liudvikas were looking at him, confused and sad, but Petras. Oh Petras. Toris couldn't meet his eye, but he didn't have to, for in an instant the other boy had jumped up, too abandoning his food in the dirt, to wrap his arms around Toris' neck.

"You can't go," he whined quietly in his ear. "You can't."

"I have to," Toris wrapped his arms around Petras' waist, loose at first, then squeezing tightly as he felt a sharp pain run through him.

Mykolas allowed them a moment before pulling his son off of the nation, Toris could see the confusion, but a spark, a spark of belief in those tired eyes. His family finally believed him. Audra was next, holding him close to her breast as she tried not to cry, and Toris felt just as warm and safe as he had on that first day that now seemed so long ago. "I love you, you will always, always, be my son," she said.

Milda pushed herself into the hug, and the two allowed her. Toris kissed away her tears. "It will be okay, Milda," he said gently and she shook her head, kissing his cheeks.

"You're my best friend," she said, her fingers clenching and unclenching against his chest.

"You're my best friend too," Toris said. After a moment of soothing her he looked over at Liudvikas, who was standing by the bench, just looking at him. He heard footsteps approach them and he knew it was Ugnė without even having to turn around.

The two boys looked at each other for only a heart beat. Liudvikas was jealous of how close Toris and Petras were, and Toris knew that. He was sure that the younger twin was happy that Toris was going and he would have Petras once more to himself, but he hoped that there was some trickle of pain, of sorrow, of loss that Liudvikas felt. When the twin came over, he held out his hand and Toris shook it, their eyes never once breaking. He stepped away so that Ugnė could pick Toris up, holding him in a tight hug.

Once he was set back on the ground, he went to the bench and kissed little Marijus on the forehead. Toris looked over his shoulder at his family, all standing in a clump, watching him. He took a deep breath and walked through them to where Novgorod had stepped off his horse, waiting to help him up.

-/-

It had been only a day to get back to Kaunas, which was nothing. They ate and changed, Lietuva was scolded by his boss, and he and Mongolia were loaded into a carriage.

Mongolia sat across from the boy, studying him. Toris felt uncomfortable under that strong gaze, it was judgmental, critical, and Toris wasn't sure if it was because the the strange eye shape or the way he looked own his nose at him, his entire body ridge and straight. Mongolia was out of his armor now and was wearing what Toris could only call a dress that shone in the sunlight, it was made of colored yellow and black silk that had a barely visible, dark-blue pattern. The collar was high at his neck with a slit down the middle. He had pants of a solid yet matching yellow, the legs of which were baggy around the ankles, rather than tight down. His shoes were black and the tips curled up back onto the top of his foot. He had on a hat that looked like a fabric bowl.

Lietuva thought he looked strange, awkward next to his own clothes – normal leather shoes, by his standards, with stockings and pantaloons that were so green they were almost black, with a matching vest and a white, long-sleeved shirt with very puffed up sleeves. "Where is your house at?" he asked once the carriage had crossed the country side.

It took the man a long moment to reply, Toris figured he was trying to convert his thoughts into Lithuanian. "Is seven suns," he finally said. When Mongolia spoke, Toris noticed that the only parts of him that moved were what parts of his body were needed for speech. The boy found this to be curious.

"What am I going to your place for?" Toris asked, not missing a moment pass after Mongolia answered.

The man's face twitched a bit, and Toris wondered if he had bothered him, but Mongolia took a breath and he was calm once more. "Novgorod and I have high hopes for your country. We know you will be great, with cultivation. I will train you to be a great empire." And that was all Toris could get him to say.

Mongolia's home was less tall and more wide than Toris' castle in Kaunas. In fact, it was sprawling. It took two hours for Lietuva to be given a tour, and Mongolia assured him that he would never get lost.

"Why?" Toris had questioned.

He had been answered: "Because you will stay in one area. You will have a training room, a bed room, a wash room, a dining hall, and a study. You will never leave that area."

Toris had been curious, though, wanting to sneak about the palace, which he did for a few days. He would follow the servants that would come and go from his wing until he'd seen every room a handful of times. He made himself an impromptu map and after awhile, he had memorized the layout.

But after two weeks Toris learned why he had been closed off: It was certainly _not_ to keep _him_ in check.

Having stolen an apple from the kitchen, Toris was wandering down a narrow hallway, the walls of which were decorated with elaborate rugs and paintings and wall scrolls. He had been given clothes similar in style to Mongolia's and he had to admit that they were very comfortable, unlike the constricting clothes the royalty wore in his home. He was trying to figure out the writing on one of the scrolls when he heard a hurried stream of yelling and what sounded like apologies in a language that he didn't speak, or even recognize. Toris felt a lump form in his throat and he ran to the sound.

No, being locked away was not for Mongolia's convenience at all. Toris' eye widened and his apple dropped to the floor as he saw what the commotion was. His new master was beating one of his slaves with a thin, long tree branch. Toris knew that Mongolia had both human and nation servants alike, and Toris wasn't sure which was the victim, but he knew he didn't like it.

"Stop it!" the boy screamed, running into the room. "Stop it! Stop it!" Toris tugged hard at Mongolia's top. The sound of the branch whistling through the air and the sick snap it made against the poor woman's back was sickening.

Much to Toris' surprise, Mongolia did stop, and the servant scrambled away. There was a gaggle of other girls hiding in the corner, and they held her close, ushering her out of the room. Toris swallowed thickly, taking a step away from his master. His face was hard in defiance, his fists clenched.

"What do you want child?" he hissed, looking down his nose at the boy. "You have no right to interfere here. You should be in your room."

Toris shook his head. "No, no! You can't hurt people!" He flinched as a hand was placed on his head.

"You will be a kind king some day, Toris, but what is respect without fear?"

Toris had been shuffled to his room and locked inside.

The next few days were spent alone in his room, pouting. He didn't understand how someone could beat another, and if one must, what reason warranted it? Toris used this time to think over what the man had said and wondered why respect could not be out of love? But maybe those were his human values influencing him.

Mongolia had unlocked his door after a few days and told him to keep to his rooms or in the area outside nearest his rooms. So Toris pulled on the coat he had been given and went out into the snow. Winter wasn't as heavy in this land as it was in his own, and Toris was happy for this. He had a large yard to walk in, with trimmed bushes and short, fat trees. In the distance Toris could see a forest. Grey clouds were slowly rolling across the sky.

Aimlessly he wandered, this was the first time he had been outside since he had come here nearly a month ago and he wanted to enjoy it. Toris breathed deeply, feeling his chest fill with cool, crisp air; it felt almost as though it were burning his nose and throat, but he certainly felt much better than he had days before.

He heard a rustle in the bushes and he blinked. "Hello?" Toris called out, going over to the plant. He had not seen any of the animals from Mongolia's place, aside from the dogs and cats that roamed the palace, and Toris was curious as to see the natives. He saw a tuft of ashy blonde poop up out of the top of the bush and he smiled, thinking it was a fawn.

But as it stood higher, Toris realized it was a dirty and frightened boy. He spoke quietly to Toris and he noticed that the language was close to what Novgorod spoke. "Hello?" Toris tried again, he only knew his own tongue.

"Is he gone?" the child asked. He was only visible from the bridge of his nose up, small hands pushing the bush down slightly. "Is Master not around?"

Toris shook his head. "Why are you hiding out here?" He had never seen any children around the castle before.

Slowly the boy left the bush, he would have been Toris' height if he stood on his tip-toes, but his face was round and soft, his eyes large on his face, it was obvious he was younger than the Lithuanian was. The shirt he wore was too small and there was a hairline of skin visible above his waistline, and his pants were too big, covering his feet. He had to keep pulling them up. He had on a scarf that was much too big; it was wrapped around his shoulders four or five times and still trailed behind him at at least his own height. "You...you are the new apprentice da?" he asked quietly. "Master...Master made me learn this for you." Toris assumed he meant the language.

"Why are you hiding out here?" he asked again, moving close to the dirty child.

He took a step back, hands pulled up to cover his nose and mouth. "I wanted to run, do not tell please. I do not like this house... Master hits me, he will hit me, if you tell, please..."

Toris felt a chill run through his veins as the child begged him. "I won't tell. But he will find you."

"Did...did he hurt her?" he asked.

"The servant girl?" Toris blinked, was she this boy's nanny? Was that what was wrong? "Did you run away from her?" When the child nodded, Toris sighed. "He beat her, yes."

The boy whimpered and pulled the scarf up and over his face, trying to muffle the sob that broke his lips.

Toris felt his heart break for the boy and he reached out to gently pull the scarf down. He tried not to laugh at the large nose that took up a good most of the boy's face, but the boy covered it up with his hands again, pink on his cheeks. Toris gently pried the hands away. "Why do you do that?" he asked gently, a smile on his face.

"Because I'm ugly," he said, sniffling. "And fat too." He pulled his hands away from Toris to pull his shirt down again. "Master does not let me eat, I need to lose weight, he says. I hate it here! I want to be back with my sisters!" Purple eyes desperately search Toris' face. "He says that Papa does not love me, until I am good I can not see my sisters!"

Again a tremor of pain. "Come with me," he said, holding the boy's hand. "Master will not find you, he doesn't go into my bedroom. You can't stay in the cold."

The boy was hesitant to follow, but eventually he followed Toris inside. He looked around the large bedroom as Toris shut the doors and removed his coat and shoes. "Lietuva?" he asked after a moment.

"You can call me Toris." He took the boy's hand and pulled him over to the fire place, sitting them down on the fur rug. "What's your name?"

He shuffled before sitting next to the kind boy, holding his hands out to the flames. "Muscovy," he muttered.

Toris made a couple of faces as he worked out if that was his country or his name. "You're...like Master and me, right?" At the nod he got, he added: "Do you have a human name?"

The boy shook his head this time, flexing and bending his fingers to get some feeling back into them.

Toris watched him sadly, leaning to the side, using one arm to prop himself up. There was a deep frown on his face and his brows were knit slightly. So Mongolia didn't feed him and beat him and called him names? The man seemed to be even more cruel than he had thought. "I don't think you're fat," he said after a few minutes, "or ugly. I think you're cute, in fact."

Muscovy blushed again, burrowing his nose back into his scarf. "You are teasing me."

"What makes you say that?"

He shuffled and pulled his legs out form under him and up against his chest. Muscovy watched the flames dance and the logs burn and fall, listening to it all crackle and pop. "Because you are pretty."

This took Toris by surprise. He didn't think he was that good looking at all. "What does how I look have to do with how I think you look?"

"Because!" the boy insisted. "You are here to be like him!" Muscovy hid inside his knees, shaking visibly. "You...you are going to get him and laugh while he beats me!"

Toris grabbed Muscovy's arm, forcing the smaller boy to look at him. "I don't want him to hurt you or anyone else! I'm going to keep you safe from him, okay?" he said firmly, looking at Muscovy hard. He watched Muscovy tremble beneath his hands and, with a small sigh, Toris let him go, making him stand up. "You must be tired," he said much more gently, he didn't want to frighten the boy. "You can have a nap in my bed, and after dinner I'll bring you some food, okay?"

Muscovy pulled his arm away and shook his head. "I-I will sleep on the floor, it is okay! A-and do not give me your good food!"

The Lithuanian shook his head and pulled Muscovy back to the bed, pushing the blankets down for the boy to get in. "Please sleep in the bed, I will be sad if you sleep on the floor."

Toris watched the mental battle waging in the boy's head, but Muscovy eventually crawled onto the down filled mattress and allowed Toris to tuck him in. Toris too climbed onto the bed, sitting next to Muscovy, gently petting his hair.

Muscovy closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, moving closer to Toris. "Are you going to be my friend?" he asked sleepily.

Lietuva smiled and slid so he was laying next to the little lost boy, who was so cold, even now that he was under the blankets near the fire. "I'll be your friend," he said quietly.

* * *

**Historical Notes:**

• To be fair about Mongolia and Lithuania's relations, the only reason Lithuania became an empire, was because Mongolia just stopped conquering once they reached Belarus. Just humor me while I take historic liberties. Although, Mongolia did treat the Grand Duchy peacefully. I don't really want to go out and find a more reliable source, like I usually try to, so settle for Wiki. My friend also confirms this from some history book she read. [ www dot en dot wikipedia dot org forward slash wiki forward slash Grand_Duchy_of_Lithuania ]

Just to give you some perspective: Novgorod invaded the Prussians/Lithuanians/Swedes in 1240, Mongolia held Muscovy from 1240 to 1380, the Teutonic Wars start in 1295 and go until 1316, Lithuania truly starts expanding starting in 1316 and goes until 1341, and unites with Poland in 1386.

Oh, and Muscovy _is_ baby Russia. Just in case you didn't know.


	6. Chapter 6

**Keri**: One year anniversary! I figured that I needed to post something, no matter the length. Hope you enjoy all the shota!

* * *

Lietuva sat on the fur rug that was on the floor before the fire, a bundle of cloth in his lap. He made a frustrated sound as the needle in his hand caught on a previous seem and the thread broke from the loop. Setting the cloth down, Toris stuck the needle between his lips and fumbled around with seeing what could be done with the thread left, and if it weren't better just to tie the end and start a new.

A few feet in front of him and a tad to the left, sat the boy he'd found in the woods, Muscovy, holding his legs to his chest. He was sitting as close to the roaring fire as possible without being in it. "You don't have to," he said quietly, cheeks pink.

"I want to," Toris said with a small laugh. Despite how he tried to speak around the needle, it still fell into his lap and he fished around in the fabric for it.

"They fit well enough." Muscovy rubbed his bare legs. His bum was tickled by the fur and he shifted.

Toris shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "I've seen you fight to keep them up all week. Rolling them up and keeping them at your chest won't mean they won't fall again." He hummed. "Once you're dressed better, you'll feel better."

Since they had met, it had taken Toris a while to get the boy to talk about anything other than his fears and his self-conscious feelings, most of which were centered around his large nose and his weight. There wasn't much he could do for Muscovy's physical appearance, even if he did find the nose extremely cute on that tiny face. But from what he could tell, most of Muscovy's weight concerns stemmed from his ill-fitting clothes.

The thread took a few tries to get back, and Lietuva didn't even bother tying it this time around, as he only had a few arms lengths of thread to go. "Besides," he said, "you let me make you a new shirt without complaint. Why the sudden change of heart?" Toris looked up at the younger boy through his eye lashes.

Muscovy shifted again, pulling his legs closer to himself. Lietuva was so kind. He knew the older boy would never hurt him when he pants were off. Not like master. Muscovy made a sound in the back of his throat. "Lietuva is so nice to me. His shirt keeps me warm and fits me so nice. He did such a good job. I do not want to keep...bothering him...not with my worries" His voice petered off and he could feel the other boy's frown.

"You do not bother me," Toris said quietly. "I enjoy doing this work, I was taught it by my Mama and it..." a sigh rattled through his chest, "it makes me feel close to her again." He had not even been gone for a month, but it felt like a life time since he had been held close to his mother's breast and felt the warm rhythm of her heart. A heart that loved him no matter that he wasn't her's.

His bed here was far more warm, and more soft than he thought possible. But there was no love in this home. He could feel that despite the furs and fires, the cloths and silks, the air was stiff and cold. When he and his master stood in the empty rooms and practiced fighting with his hands and swords and hardened bamboo, when he sat at cold tables and read from scrolls and learned wisdom and tactics that he was told would make him great he could feel that there was no love from the man. Only urgent pushing.

Muscovy sniffed and pulled Toris from his longing. When he looked up he was surprised to see the boy looking at him. "You have a Mama?" he asked. Not waiting for an answer, Muscovy turned back to the fire. "I always wanted one. They seem so nice. My..." his voice hitched and he hid his face in his knees. "M-my sister cared...c-cared for me and the little one." He sniffed wetly. "My Papa said she was like a mother to us. It felt like it."

A second frown tugged at Lietuva's lips as he watched. "You're Papa is...like us, right? I've heard the language you speak...I mean, I know a man who speaks something that sounds the same." Pain pulled at his stomach, but Toris pushed it back down. "N...Novgorod..."

"That's it!" Muscovy said, turning back around. His eyes were glazed with tears. "My Papa Novgorod the Great...he...and my grandpapa Kiev..." Muscovy shuddered. "But he is not around so much. Papa does not like him. Not at all."

Toris' frown deepened, but he returned to his work. "Well," he said, "at least your have your sisters, right?" Ah, but he didn't, not any more. "I-I mean-" he squeezed his eyes. "I mean, you have their love." After a pause Lietuva looked up and saw Muscovy hiding in his knees again.

Just above the crackle of the fire he could hear the boy's gentle sobbing.

How could he have said that? Toris felt his stomach clench again. Muscovy constantly babbled and sobbed for his sisters. That Mongolia had lied to him that they were here. That he knew they were out in the cold somewhere, starving and freezing. That someone was hurting them. Lietuva shuddered, the most he could do for the boy was try to sooth him with promises that they were safe. Toris couldn't prove it, of course, but Muscovy needed to hear it and accepted the words, and Toris could feel in his heart that they were true.

Sighing, Toris returned to his work. He could empathize with Muscovy's pain, the thought of losing one's family and the fear of not knowing if or when they would be seen again. Toris didn't know if his pain was better or worse because his family had been human. They were his children, but the strings that tied them were different from those that tied Muscovy.

Muscovy's was a family of nations. The oldest of which was Kieven Rus, who Lietuva knew to be dead at the hands of his new master because he could recall Novgorod's anger that he hadn't been able to kill the man himself. But he couldn't tell the boy that. He had too much pain inside of him already.

Then there was of course Novgorod, who from what Lietuva could gather from Muscovy's blubbering had sold him into slavery to Mongolia not by contract but by apathy. He had been, to Novgorod, a trading post and nothing more. Better as a servant than as a child. This fact only furthered the anger Lietuva felt for the man. Despite his best efforts to swallow it down and forgive like he'd been taught.

Lastly were Muscovy's older and younger sisters, the names of which Lietuva didn't know for Muscovy would launch into his father's tongue whenever it came to them. Lietuva didn't know why, but the more the boy spoke the more he was able to understand. He would have to ask Mongolia, at their next session, how languages worked with their kind.

Toris tied the end of the thread and stuck the needle between his lips again. He held up the pants to check that he hadn't left a seem open or forgotten any pins before sticking the needle back in its cushion. "All finished," he said, a shudder running through him as his voice bounced around the silent room. "All finished," he tried again, this time in a whisper.

A few whimpers and sniffles were given in response as Muscovy rubbed at his eyes. "Th-thank you," he said, turning to face the older nation. With another wet sniff, he crawled next to Lietuva and took the pants with one hand, using the other to tug his shirt down to cover himself. He blushed and held the pants to his chest, waiting to Toris to cover his eyes.

But Toris was used to nudity, having spent just as much time with his family clothed as he did not. They had bathed, slept, and even occasionally prayed and played naked. "To be naked before nature is to be considered holy," his mother had said. So Toris sat next to the boy, smiling warmly, if not a bit shyly, at him. Waiting to see if he had measured right.

As the minutes ticked by Muscovy's brows furrowed and he covered his mouth and nose with his scarf, as he often did, his face becoming more red as a whine scraped his throat. "S-stop looking!" he whimpered, closing his eyes and curling on himself again. "I-I can't change with you looking! Y-you'll...you'll see...me...d-down there," again his voice trailed away so Toris had to strain to hear it.

"Eh?" Toris blinked at the boy, his smile flattening out to a curious look. "So? We're both boys. I've seen you go pee too, and you've taken a bath with me," not that their master knew, for the child was still in hiding. "How come you're scared now?"

"Because-" Muscovy whined. "It's different!" This was how it had started the first time Mongolia had touched him there and he didn't want it – he didn't want to – not with this nice boy – no no nononono. Another pained sound escaped him and Muscovy covered his ears, whining to himself once more in his father's tongue.

Thankfully Toris knew that pain, that look, those sounds. "Okay," he said quietly, gently brushing the ashen hair. "It's okay, I'll leave, I'll take the napkin to the kitchen and then I'll knock before I come in to make sure you're dressed, okay? Please don't cry, Muscovy."

Once the tears had subsided and the sniffles were all but gone, Toris crawled to where Muscovy had previously been sitting and collect the soiled napkin he used to sneak Muscovy bits of his own dinner. With another gentle pat on the head and a reassuring smile Toris hurried from the room. He had known that Mongolia beat his servants, but he didn't know he molested them as well. Or was it just Muscovy? Either way, Toris was not going to stand for it.

He bit his lip, twisting the napkin in his hands. But how would he confront his master without giving away that he had found the little run away? Mongolia still seemed very angered by the fact the boy was gone and had sent out a dozen search parties to try and find him. With each day he seemed to become more aggravated.

Toris peeked his head through the yurt flap that led to the kitchen, looking to make sure that no one was around. Unfortunately there was two girls talking and laughing with each other, bent over buckets of warm and soapy water. The laundry had already been started. Toris cursed his luck and snuck in anyway, hiding behind the barrels and crates that littered the wood floor. He wondered if he could throw the napkin into one of the piles, but they seemed too far and they were far too far to reach. Gritting his teeth, the boy tried anyway, the napkin dropping a little over half the distance.

One of the women looked up and he tried to lay on the ground in order to hide better, but he was caught. She came up to him, shouting in Mongolia's tongue, grabbing him roughly by the arm. Pulling him through the flap again and back out into the main rooms, Toris could feel her long nails digging into his skin and he hissed.

"H-hey, let me go!" he demanded. "You're hurting me!" Toris tried to wiggle his arm, pulling at her digits but she wouldn't budge. He tried to plant his feet or dig his heels into the ground, but the solid floors caused his feet to slip and him to tumble and trip, the woman not pausing until she had found Mongolia.

The man was sitting at a table with a handful of men Toris recognized as being nobles, playing a game Toris recognized as mahjong, one of his master's favorite ways to pass the time. Women, in qui pao's that were longer and more colorful than his own with their long hair in buns or else down with flower or bird clips, stood around the edges of the room. Some of the women were carrying trays with tea and others with snacks. Some were sitting on cushions, their conversations dying as the two entered the room.

Mongolia didn't look from his game as he addressed the servant and she explained the situation. He dismissed her and Toris rubbed his arm. "Sit," he commanded the boy, and Toris did, finding a small pillow on the ground.

He rubbed at his arm and kept his eyes on his feet, brows furrowed in agitation and his teeth worrying his lower lip. Toris hoped that the man's game was almost finished so the scolding would be soon and Muscovy would not have to worry. It pained him that he knew the terrible things this man did to Muscovy, but even now that he knew a long talk was ahead of him, he couldn't say anything, and he had to control himself from doing so.

Muscovy was a sweet boy. He was scared and he, like Lietuva, was a new nation, lost and confused in this world. Maybe it was Toris' human values talking again, but he was certain that it was the duty of older nations to guide the young. To explain what they were and tell them what about their kind they knew. It was hard being young no matter what, but with so much responsibility, and then on top of it they weren't even sure what they were.

All Toris knew was that he was different, that was it. When he got hurt, he healed faster than humans, from what he could gather. And from his stint with his family he learned he aged differently too. With his siblings it had been slow, almost unnoticeable, according to the household, but Toris' growth was sporadic, and he had always known it to be as such.

He had been alive for twenty or so years, but here he sat, seven or eight maybe, and he had gone from Muscovy's age to what he was now over the course of a few nights. From his father's praise he seemed to learn faster than his siblings did and was able to memorize things with ease. And from whispered conversations in the dead of night with Petras, when they had held each other close and kissed, Toris had unloaded his fears and worries and let the boy know some of what he heard and felt and saw around him, and he learned that that wasn't normal.

As Toris grew more and more idle, his thoughts petering away into nothing, the boy busied himself with watching the candles sink lower and lower. He rest his head in his hands and rest his elbows on his knees, his back aching with the wait. It was late, Toris knew, he should have been preparing for bed right about now.

His eyes were drooped low and he barely registered the sounds of joy and agitation as the game ended, the winner collecting his winnings and dropping them coin by coin into his pouch. It wasn't until Lietuva heard foots steps approaching him that he opening his eyes, looking up at his master through blurred vision.

"Can't even wait, you lazy child," Mongolia grunted. "You need more training, if your back cannot even hold you for an hour." He grabbed the child by his afflicted arm and hoisted him to his feet. "Sneaking about and stealing. You're lucky you do not belong to me. But mark me your training will be severe tomorrow," he continued to chide. "No breakfast."

Toris kept his mouth shut tight and his head bowed. There was no way he could convince his master of his innocence when his mind was made up. Not that he was truly innocent. "Yes sir," he simply said.

The walking began his heart again and as his mind became more clear, he realized Mongolia was taking him back to his room. Panic set in and he tried to slow his walking, needing to buy time, but a harsh tug at his arm sent pain spiraling through his shoulder and chest and he continued on. Muscovy was expecting him, he would be worried and waiting and then Mongolia would find him! Toris needed to talk, to make noise, something, to let the boy know they were coming. "S-so Meistras," he tried. "Did you enjoy your game?"

Mongolia looked over his shoulder and shot the boy a look. "Children do not speak unless they are spoken to." And that was that.

As they drew closer and closer to the door that led to Toris' room, the boy began to sweat. He could feel the color leave him and his hands grew cold and clammy. What would happen when Muscovy was found? What would Mongolia say? do? What would he say that Toris had been keeping him for all this time? Toris could honestly say he feared for both their lives.

Mongolia pushed open the door and all but threw Lietuva inside. "I do not want to see you out of this area again. Do you hear me, boy? This is twice now, and the third time you will not be happy." He shut the door and locked it.

Toris stood, dumbfounded. Mongolia had left; Muscovy was safe. The brunette took in a breath he didn't know he had been holding, dropping to his hands and knees as he coughed and sobbed. He was safe. Muscovy was safe. Where was he?

Lifting his head proved a great feat and his arms began to shake as he did so. "M...Muscovy?" he called out.

"You were taking too long," a muffled voice said, "so I figured you got into trouble." The little boy poked his head out from under Toris' bed. "Hey," he said, brows knitting together with a frown, "why do you get to cry but not me?"

Toris let out a relieved laugh, allowing himself to fall to the ground. He was sobbing and laughing, both so hard that his sides hurt and his throat burned but he couldn't stop. They'd avoided certain doom because Muscovy was not as big of a cry baby idiot as Toris had thought! He didn't stop his fit even as Muscovy crawled over to him, pants and all, and lay down at his side, just watching.

"You're strange," he commented, still frowning at Toris.

After another moment, his laughed died down and Toris rubbed at his eyes, panting hard. Once his composure had been regained he rolled onto his side, just smiling at Muscovy. "I'm glad you're okay," he said.

That only caused Muscovy to frown deeper. "You act weird when you're scared."

Toris hummed gently, closing his eyes. He allowed himself this moment of peace before he knew he would have to get up and start getting ready for bed. Gabija was still crackling in her hearth, but she had died down some in Toris' absence. The room was dark and warm and Lietuva was content to fall asleep right here.

But Muscovy was soon shaking him from sleep. "We should go to bed," he said quietly, trying to lift Toris up. "You're light," he commented, "even for being bigger than me."

"Mmm, I'm not that-" Toris yawned, "not that much bigger." With the help of the blonde Toris went over the bed. "'M too tired to change," he said, snuggling down into the mattress. He was drained, emotionally and physically.

Muscovy crawled onto the bed without hesitation, he and Toris had been cuddling together every night for the past week anyway. "At least take your slippers off," he said, moving to do so for the boy who had done everything in the world for him. He took off his own shoes and slid under the blankets, wrapping them around Toris. Muscovy continued to watch the sleeping boy, petting his face gently. "You don't have to worry about me," he said. "I'll be okay."

"Don't have to," Toris grunted, "want to." He held his arms open for the smaller boy and let out a content sound when the gesture was accepted, tucking Muscovy's head underneath his own chin. Toris kissed the top of the boy's head lightly, finally allowing sleep to over come him.

That night Toris dreamt he and Muscovy were drowning in blood.


End file.
